


Stranglehold

by fvckingavengers



Series: Stranglehold [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvckingavengers/pseuds/fvckingavengers
Summary: When you became an Avenger, you thought your past was buried deep enough to never resurface. But when your skills as a hunter of the supernatural are needed, you’re forced to reveal more about your former life.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Stranglehold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730224
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	1. Part One

You awake to someone shaking you, beckoning you to rid your slumber and get out of bed. With a groan, you roll over onto your stomach and effectively kick the owner of the voice in the stomach.

Bucky chuckles and catches your ankle before you can get another jab in. He tugs your leg gently and pulls the sheets off from your body, which you quickly pull back over yourself to shield your bare skin. He laughs harder as you sit upright and shoot daggers at him, your hair disheveled and holding the sheet up to your chest.

“C’mon, you act like I haven’t seen you naked before.” Bucky smiles smugly and grabs for the blanket again.

You swat his hand away and grip the sheet tighter. “That was over a year ago. You lost the right to see me naked when you—“

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He cuts you off with a slight roll of his eyes and turns toward the door. “Fury called for a briefing. He’s got a new case. Be down in ten.” He calls over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

With a heavy sigh, you pick your t-shirt up from the floor and slide it over your head, pairing it with a pair of shorts. You run a hand through your hair, but that’s the extent of your effort to look presentable. The sound of your sneakers scuffing against the tiled floor echoes through the halls as you make your way to the briefing room. Once inside, you plop onto a chair between Natasha and Steve. The blonde passes you a steaming mug of coffee and you sigh a breath of relief, taking the warm cup between your hands and mouthing a thank you before taking a long sip.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Nick shoots a look in your direction, to which you nonchalantly shrug in response. “Something showed up on our radar. We don’t know if it’s Hydra based or some kind of new threat, but whatever it is, we want it nipped in the bud.” He goes around the table and hands everyone a manila folder. He stops at your chair and swivels it around for you to look at him. “You’re in charge of this one, Ember.”

You blink rapidly and shake your head, furrowing your brows in confusion. Before you could open your mouth to question the director, he’s already back to the head of the table to address the rest of the team.

“Some of you are taking a little trip down to the Gulf Coast. There have been sightings of suspicious beings around the greater New Orleans area.”

Your body tenses and your jaw clenches as you look up at Fury from across the room.

“Mardi Gras just passed and now you wanna send us to The Big Easy? That ain’t right, man.” Sam huffs and shakes his head as he thumbs through the papers in the folder.

Steve rolls his eyes and reads over the documents in his hands. “Do we have any idea what we’re dealing with?” His forehead creases as he tries to make sense of the photos given. “All of these images are… different.”

“Shapeshifter.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginning stages of a tension headache.

Everyone’s heads turn to face you, silently questioning your answer. Fury taps his finger on the wooden surface and clears his throat to get the attention back on him. “Pick your team and get to packing. I want you outta here in two hours.”

You run a hand through your hair and lean back in your chair, looking over your teammates. “Steve, Nat,” Sam looks at you with pleading eyes, making you crack a grin. “Wilson.” You feel eyes burning into you from directly across the table.

It had been months since you worked on a case together, and although you knew his skills would help on the case, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you needed him. You swallow thickly and meet his gaze. “Barnes.”

Tony whistles and sighs in relief. “Thank God. The women, bars, and casinos - Pepper would have my head.” He taps his knuckles on the table as he stands to his feet. “I’ll make sure you have all the toys you need to make the mission as smooth as possible.”

“Oh, she’s got plenty of toys already.” The words fly out of Bucky’s mouth before he can comprehend what he’s saying. He bites his lip to keep his mouth from curling into a cheshire grin.

You roll your eyes, but the smirk you sport is genuine. “They’ve seen more action than you ever have.”

“Enough.” Nick groans. “I said two hours. Get your shit together and get a move on.”

While the others filter out of the room, you gather the papers from the folder and walk over to Fury. “What the hell is this, Nick?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m counting on you to figure out.” Fury shrugs, skirting around the question.

“No, I mean—“

“Look, I know you’ve got some issues with your past, and I’ve kept a lot of info out of your file like you asked. But this is bigger than you.This is your job and you’re the one most well equipped for this kind of case.” He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well then why not just send me on my own? Why involve the team in this?”

Fury scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m not gonna send an agent out alone when I don’t know the severity of the situation at hand. You have the upper hand, it’s your turf and you know the area best. End of discussion.” He points to the door, signaling for you to go prep for the possible week long feat. You turn back when you hear him call you by your name instead of your title. “Good luck.”

\- -

Louisiana was just how you remembered it. Even in the early part of March, it was hot, sticky and humid. The five of you maintained to keep a low profile as you walked through the New Orleans International Airport. Steve’s brows furrow when he notices the lack of yellow cars awaiting passengers out by the curb. You laugh and pull his arm to follow you across the way to the parking garage.

“We’re in the Big Easy now, Cap. Not the Big Apple. No cabs.”

“Surely Uber and Lyft have made their appearance here by now though, right?” Natasha asks as she scrolls through her phone.

You lead them to the second floor of the full garage, scouring the lot for an older car. “Possibly. But I don’t have the patience to wait for one. Plus, why pay when we can get a ride for free.” You shrug, walking over to an ’08 Honda Accord. Your four partners share a look before checking around the surrounding area for onlookers. You pull on the door handle and huff in slight amusement. “It always surprises me how trusting people still are this day in age.” You get into the drivers seat and pull the sun visor down, catching the keys as they fell from their place.

“You gonna straight up just steal someone’s car?” Sam inquires skeptically.

“Yeah,” You look out from the side of the car at him. “Yeah, I am. You guys are more than welcome to wait for alternate means of transportation. I’ll text you the address.”

When you close the door and start the car, Bucky scoffs and shakes his head. “Fuck that, I’m with her.”

After he climbs into the passenger seat, the other three follow and pile into the back. You pull out of the spot, out of the garage, and onto the highway that you know like the back of your hand. Fell on Black Days by Soundgarden plays through the speakers of the car, and you can’t help but to wonder if it’s an omen of the events to come of your time down here. However, the change in scenery is welcomed. The slow pace of the surrounding area is a stark contrast of the hustle of the concrete jungle that you’d been accustomed to.

“Did Tony send you directions to the hotel? I haven’t gotten anything.” Steve pipes up from the middle of the backseat. The sight makes you chuckle as you take it in from the rear view mirror; the large, brawny man perched on the hump while Sam and Natasha are squished on their respective sides.

You turn your attention back to the highway and shake your head. “I told him not to book one. I - uh - I got us covered.”

They seem to be content with your answer because none of them press on the matter. The sun is beginning to set, and it takes you a moment to remember why you left the comfort that the south provides you with. Sure, the bright city lights have their own type of beauty, but there’s nothing like watching the hues of orange and pink and blue cast behind the moss covered trees on the horizon.

“Alright, a few ground rules,” You clear your throat as you make a right turn down a shell road surrounded by a forrest of towering oak trees. “If you have to ask if you can touch something, the answer is no. Break anything in this house, I break something of yours, including personal items and, or body parts of my choosing. Booze is fully stocked, you can help yourselves.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows and whistles as he looks up at the grand structure of the house. “They don’t make em’ like this in the city.” He slides out of the car when the engine shuts off and the bunch follow you up the porch.

You crouch down to lift the ceramic alligator that hides the spare key and unlock the door, walking through the dark with ease and lighting the path for your teammates following closely behind. They each look around in awe of the stark contrast of the exterior and interior of the house. While the outside of looked like an old abandoned shack, the inside looked as if it had been beautifully renovated with no one living in it.

“Okay, I’m just gonna ask the question the boys are obviously too afraid to ask. What the hell is this place?” Natasha quires as she puts her duffel on the floor beside the sofa.

You kick off your shoes and wave at them to follow you into the kitchen, opening a cabinet and grabbing a few glasses along with a bottle of bourbon. “This house has been in my family for centuries. I grew up here until my mid teenage years when I got my powers. Started traveling around the greater south and Fury found me, recruited me, and here I am.” You raise your glass before knocking the contents of it back, shuddering when the alcohol fuses with your bloodstream.

“That’s why Fury put you in charge. You know the terrain down here.” Steve confirms aloud.

“Worried about your mantle, Captain?” You raise a brow as you pour another round. “Don’t be. I prefer to take orders than to give them.” Your gaze shoots to the towering, shaggy haired brunette who’s stifling a smirk. “Not a word, Barnes.” You scold.

“At the briefing, you mentioned something about a shapeshifter. You dealt with this kinda thing before?” Sam questions curiously, looking up from swirling the alcohol in his glass. “I mean, non-human things?”

You huff softly and shake your head. “You still surprised by things after all these years? I thought the aliens would’ve rid you of that trait.” You nod your head to the living room, signaling to them once more to follow you. “But to answer your question, yeah. I’ve dealt with my fair share of non-human, supernatural beings. Shapeshifters barely scratch the surface.”

Bucky’s eyes widen at the thought. “What other things are there?”

Natasha shares your amused expression and leans over to look him in the eyes. “Things that would make even a man of your stature cry like a little baby.” She sits back and crosses her legs, nursing her drink slowly. “You know, it’s said that the Romanoff’s come from a long line of vampires.”

“Vampires? C’mon, Nat, those aren’t rea-“ Steve stops mid sentence when he sees you nodding. “Vampires are real.” He reinstates to himself, seemingly bargaining with the information.

“The stories your parents told you to scare the shit out of you as kids, the things that go bump in the night — they’re all real.” Your confirmation makes Steve and Bucky’s jaws hang slightly as they process the thought of the endless creatures they previously knew to be tall tales, are no longer just figments of imagination.

Sam chuckles from his spot on the recliner as he rocks himself back and forth. “I think you just broke them.”

Swallowing down the last bit of liquid in your glass, you rise to your feet and grab your bag up off the floor. “With that, I leave you. Got an early start tomorrow. There are enough rooms for everyone upstairs, my bedroom is the last door on the right. Oh, and the howling usually starts around three-thirty. If the rougarou bothers you, there’s a shotgun above the fireplace.” You point to the long stemmed barrel displayed on the wall.

“Rougarou?” Bucky’s forehead creases, the word feeling strange rolling off his tongue.

“Werewolf.” You grin, wiggling your eyebrows teasingly.

\- -

The early afternoon sun illuminates the house. Bucky squints and rubs at his tired eyes as he trudges down the staircase, looking over at the others who are seemingly just starting their day as well.

“Did she really turn off all our alarms?” He asks, earning nods around the room. Bucky rolls his eyes and wipes a hand down his face. “Where is she?”

“She was out getting work done.” You answer from the front door, locking it behind you before joining the group in the kitchen. “Lookin’ a little rough there, guys. I know Stark’s got us spoiled, but do none of you remember how to work a coffee maker?” You push past Sam and Steve to get to the machine.

Bucky, clearly unsatisfied with your reply, opens his mouth and moves to step forward. Natasha, knowing what’s in his best interest more than he does, blocks him and clears her throat. “You didn’t wanna let us join you? Fury gave you a team for a reason, you don’t have to work on your own.”

“Look, I just thought you guys could use some extra sleep. Plus, I got done all I could with or without your help, so now you guys can enjoy yourselves. Nat, you wanted to go on a swamp tour, the guys want beignets and to check out the French Quarter. You gonna be mad at me for that?” When no one responds, you turn to retrieve four mugs for the coffee. “Didn’t think so.”

In the brief silence, a loud meow rings from the floor, startling the men. A sleek black cat jumps up onto the island and perches herself, swinging her tail from side to side.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Steve asks to no one in particular, leaning forward and quickly backing off when the feline hisses at him.

“This is Rhiannon. She was my great grandmother’s.” You scratch the top of the cat’s head and smile when she purrs. “How many lives do you have left, girl?”

“Four.” Natasha throws her voice, resulting in Sam, Bucky, and Steve jumping out of their skin for the second time.

Sam, not learning from Steve’s mistake, goes to take a closer look at the animal. He jumps back when she goes to claw at him. “Don’t take it personally. She’s not very fond of men. My mom told me Rhiannon scratched my great grandfather’s eyes out of his skull as a warning. A week later, he was convicted of three counts of murder.”

Bucky keeps a safe distance as he reaches for the offered coffee cup. “I think I’ll take this upstairs and get ready before she actually does start talking and I start questioning my sanity.”

“Me too.” Steve and Sam say in unison, following the soldier up the stairs.

Natasha strokes her hand down the cat’s back and grins as she sips from her own mug. “I like her.”

\- -

Neon lights on the exterior of various bars and street lamps guide you and Bucky down the length of Bourbon Street as you walk around aimlessly, a plastic cup in the shape of a hand grenade with a long neck, filled to the brim with the alcohol of yours and Bucky’s choosing in hand. The two of you follow a few feet behind of Natasha, Steve, and Sam, allowing them control of the next bar the five of you end up at. You grin around your straw as you sip on the frozen beverage, watching Sam attempt to leapfrog over Steve’s massive build in his intoxicated state.

“We might have to head back to the house earlier than expected if they keep that shit up. I dunno if I have the pull with the cops I once had here.”

Bucky nudges your side with his elbow, making you look up at him. “I’ve learned more about you in the span of twenty four hours than in the three years we’ve known each other. You have this whole other life you kept from us. Why?”

His question is lighthearted. He’s curious, not interrogating.

“It never came up.” You shrug nonchalantly. “Shapeshifters, vampires, demons - that’s not something you mention in casual conversation. I grew up being called a freak. Didn’t want that to follow me into my adult life, so, I keep it buried. Or at least I tried to. Besides, you made it a point to never get too close.”

Your name falls from his lips in a soft sigh. “You never let me explain—“

“Because you don’t have to, Buck.” You shake your head, lowering your gaze to your souvenir cup as you stir the contents inside.

Bucky stops and grabs your arm. “I’d like to if it means we could be friends again.”

His words make you scoff. “We are friends.”

“Not the way we were before.”He counters.

“Bucky, sex complicates things. You know that just as much as I do and—“

Heavy footsteps scuffing against the concrete pulls your attention as Steve jogs up to you and Bucky. “Sam puked in the bushes. I think he’s down for he count.”

You look over at the man doubled over, coughing miserably while Natasha snickers at his state as she rubs his back. You shake your head and crack a smile as you hand your grenade to Bucky. “Finish that off for me, I’ll go get the car. Make sure he keeps his head out the window.”

\- -

Other than the sound of Sam’s moaning and groaning, the drive is mostly quiet. Bucky hums along to the radio while Steve and Natasha whisper to one another in the backseat. You park the car and help Steve haul Sam up the porch steps, but when you enter the house, there’s a shift in atmosphere.

“Buck,” You gesture for him to take your place at Sam’s side to keep him from toppling over. “Stay quiet.” You whisper, softly treading to the living room and taking the shotgun off of the mantle. “There’s someone in the house.”

Natasha grabs a pistol from her bag and follows behind you. Footsteps trudge heavily down the staircase. You pull down on the barrel, locking the bullets in place and aim, finger set on the trigger as the invader descends to the first level of the house.

“Fuck — Don’t shoot! It’s me!” A tall statue of a man holds his hands up to show that he’s unarmed. His long, shaggy brown hair falling in his face.

You lower your weapon and give a nod to Natasha for her to do the same. “Holy shit,” Your eyes squint and your feet bring you closer to the man.“Sam?”

“Present.” Wilson raises his hand, falling into a fit of laughter.

Steve and Bucky shake their heads and dump the slowly sobering man onto the sofa in the living room before joining back the rest of the group.

“Sam Winchester, I almost fucking shot you!” You slam your fists into his chest, your efforts only making him chuckle.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He chuckles, pulling you into his chest when you’ve had enough of pathetically beating him.

Bucky, Steve and Natasha share a confused look, Nat opening her mouth to speak when a loud hissing sound followed by a scream sounds from the kitchen.

Sam laughs heartily and peeks his head into the adjacent room. “Dean, leave Rhiannon alone and come out here, we have a visitor.”

“You have a visitor?” You scoff. “This is my house.”

When you see him, your breath hitches in your throat. The green in his eyes almost disappears behind his blown pupils. “Hey, kid.”

The corners of his lips curl up into a wide smile and he moves forward from his bowlegged stance. Your feet leave the ground when he hugs you, spinning around and embracing your tightly. Your eyes flutter closed and your fingers brush along the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“How long has it been? Like, six years?” Dean sets you down and holds you at arms length to get a better look at you.

“More like eight. It’s almost six years that I’ve been with these guys.” You point over your shoulder to your three friends standing behind you.

“Care to introduce “these guys”?” Natasha slings an arm around you and smiles brightly at the two brothers.

The alcohol is still strong on her breath, and you couldn’t tell which excited her more; if the boys were a prospect for her, or for you. “Fellas, this is—“

“The Avengers.” Sam and Dean gleam in unison, bright smiles plastered on their faces. “We know your names.” Sam nods, shaking Steve’s extended hand.

You roll your eyes, an amused grin spreading across your face at their childlike wonderment. “This is Sam and Dean Winchester. Friends of mine from as long as I can remember.”

“He stole my name!” Sam slurs from the couch, wincing and holding his head from sitting up too quickly.

You huff out a laugh and make your way over to him, pulling him up and dragging him toward the staircase. “I’m gonna get Wilson to bed. You guys get to know each other.”

As you ascend the stairs, the rest of the group settle into the living room, Natasha nestling between Sam and Dean on the sofa while Steve and Bucky sit on the loveseat across the coffee table.

“So,” Bucky clears his throat. “What do you guys do?”

“We’re hunters.” Sam informs. “Actually, the reason we’re here is because we got a tipoff about a shifter. Pretty serious case by the sounds of it.”

“Sounds like we’re working on the same mission. Is that how you guys know our resident supernatural enthusiast?” Natasha questions with a kink of her brow.

Dean chuckles and tilts his head to the side. “To put things simply, yeah. Our fathers were friends. They hunted together and raised us to do the same. We’ve got a million stories we can tell ya.”

“Puberty was a pretty scary, yet hilarious time…” Sam grins.

“If you wanna stay in my house, you’ll keep your mouths shut, Winchesters.” You threaten, narrowing your eyes at the brothers.

Dean’s brow raises as a smirk spreads across his face. “What are you gonna do if we don’t, little girl?”

Your lips purse and there’s a slight glimmer in your eyes. Bucky takes notice of the way your body reacts to the name the oldest Winchester used and when he rounds the couch and stands in front of you.

“I’ll just have to take you out back and kick your ass.” You challenge - the twang of your accent coming out just a little, not letting his towering stance intimidate you.

Dean huffs and his grin becomes more sinister. Sinful. “As entertaining as that sounds, I can remember when we’d go out back and have a different kind of fun.”

You know he’s all talk. Dean always was a tease. “Maybe those memories can help you get to sleep tonight.” You pat his shoulder and slide past him. “Someone’s gonna have to stay with Wilson tonight. Make sure he doesn’t kill himself going to the bathroom.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Pretty tired myself.” He stands to his feet and makes his way toward the stairs. “Nice to meet you, fellas.”

“The honor is ours, Captain!” Sam calls over his shoulder, still smiling giddily.

“We should all get to bed.” Bucky declares. “Got a full day of work ahead of us, right, Em?” He shoots a playful but stern glare in your direction.

It makes you roll your eyes. “Right. We’ll head out around noon.”

“Keep your hands off our alarms this time?” Natasha adds as she follows the others to the second floor.

“Lesson learned, God.” You scoff and raise your hands in defense. “C’mon, guys. I’m pretty sure your room hasn’t been claimed.” Sam and Dean lead the way as you shut the lights off behind you.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you became an Avenger, you thought your past was buried deep enough to never resurface. But when your skills as a hunter of the supernatural are needed, you’re forced to reveal more about your former life.

Yellow sunlight filters through the blinds, casting shadows on the walls and spreading warmth on Bucky’s face. He groans inwardly upon waking up and rubs a hand over his face. There was a half hour before his alarm was set to go off, but he decides to get up despite the feeling of his heavy eyelids.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee leads him to the kitchen. The sight of Sam Wilson hunched over the kitchen island, head in his hands, while Sam Winchester cooks breakfast makes a chuckle rumble in his chest. 

“Don’t you look like you had a lovely evening? Where’s Steve? You scare him off during the night?” He hears Wilson mumble something about the shower and accepts that as an answer. “Can I help with the food?”

Winchester looks over his shoulder and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s just about done. Wanna get the two outside and call ‘em in?” He points out the window to the shed where he sees you and Dean working on what he guesses to be their car. 

Bucky nods and heads out the backdoor, nearly jumping out of his skin when the sound of Metallica blaring from the stereo hits his eardrums. When he moves to walk down the porch steps, he stops when he sees Natasha swaying in the rocking chair to his right.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” She wears a cocky grin, already knowing the answer. Bucky opens his mouth to speak, ready to deny her accusation, when the sound of your laughter pulls his attention back to the shed.

The pair of cut off shorts expose the cleft of your ass and through the fabric of your black Guns N Roses tank top, he can see your hardened nipples, a result from the cool breeze that whisps through the trees. You and Dean are both covered in grease and your hair frames your face as it falls from your high ponytail. Dean uses a towel as a whip and slaps the back of your thigh with it, making you retaliate by throwing a wet sponge at his head.

You look at ease. You look happy. And Bucky hasn’t seen a smile on your face like the one you wear now in a long time.

“You had your shot with her and you blew it - the reason I’ll never be able to understand. There’s obviously history between them. Just don’t ruin things for her more so than you already have, Buck.”

Bucky grinds his teeth and his jaw juts out. “I’m not ruining anything.” He mumbles under his breath. “Ember! Dean! Come get some food before we eat it all!” He doesn’t spare another look to Natasha. Just ducks back inside when Dean jogs towards the door. 

When you move passed Natasha, she grabs your arm and tilts her head to the chair beside her. She hands over her coffee and you take it immediately, craving the caffeine.

“You know I’m about to interrogate you, so you might as well start spilling.”

Not having the strength or will to deny her, you sigh and hug the cup to your chest. “You’ll get the short version and like it.” Natasha shrugs, accepting the offer, figuring it’s better than nothing. “Those boys practically raised me. Our fathers were so consumed with hunting, with finding what killed our moms, we became second priority. I mean, Dean had to have one of his girlfriends show me how to use a tampon.” You huff with a slight smile playing on your lips. “Years went on, I got older, and the brother-sister image we had grown accustomed to vanished. We slept together on and off for a while until I decided I didn’t wanna live this life anymore. My powers put me on Fury’s map and that was that.”

Natasha purses her lips and nods, inwardly debating if she should ask the question she’s most curious about. “Did you love him?”

You sigh softly and a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Nat, you and I both know that love is for children.”

“Hey,” Steve pokes his head out from the doorframe. “You guys come eat. We’re heading out in an hour.”

**

_Boston plays through the car speakers and the sun is at it’s highest point of the day. The air outside is a sticky kind of hot. Humid and thick. You squint from the bright light filtering through the trees as you look out of the window from the backseat. The trunk was packed with yours and your father’s belongings. You knew you were leaving your home, and the thought makes you sad. Leaving behind everything, everyone you knew at the tender age of six._

_“Where are we goin’, Daddy?”_

_He looks at you through the rear view mirror. His eyes are red and the sunlight makes his brown irises look like pools of sourwood honey. “Kansas.” His eyes focus on the road ahead. He hasn’t been able to look at you for too long since your mom died. Your resemblance to her is too hard to bare. “You remember Mister Winchester, don’t ya? We’re gonna stay with him and his boys for a while.”_

_You didn’t question him beyond that. If you weren’t playing with your dolls, your attention was on your Gameboy. Other than that you were snoozing or daydreaming. By morning light, your father put the car in park in the driveway of a small white house. A tall man with dark brown hair walks out from the house and shakes your father’s hand. He looked friendly enough._

_“Hi, sunshine.” He lowers himself on one knee to be closer on your level and smiles softly. Wrinkles form around his tired eyes. “Sam and Dean are excited you’re here. We haven’t seen you since you learned how to walk.”_

_You’re timid. You look to your father who gives a soft smile and a nod._

_“You hungry? What do you want for breakfast?” John leads you and your father into the house. Toys are scattered across the floor in the living room and you can faintly hear the sound of Saturday morning cartoons playing on tv in one of the rooms upstairs._

_“I want Pop Tarts.” You say softly._

_John chuckles and nods his head. “A lady of simple pleasures. Pop Tarts it is. Hey Sam, Dean! Get your butts down here, we have company.” He calls from the bottom of the stairs before walking to the kitchen._

_Footsteps thud down the steps as two boys come pushing and shoving each other out of the way. They come stumbling into the kitchen, yelling at one another until John gives them a scolding look._

_“Boys, you got so big since the last time you came visit.” Your dad ruffles their hair. “How old are you now?”_

_“Fifteen.” Dean grumbles as he fixes his hair, moving to help John with breakfast._

_“I’m eleven.” Sam beams._

_“Time flies, huh?” Your dad huffs. “Seems like just yesterday my little one was—“ He looks down and furrows his brows when he doesn’t see you at his side._

_He looks over into the next room and sees you on the floor, playing with a Superman action figure._

_John hands Dean a paper plate stacked with warm pastries straight from the toaster and nods to the living room. “You and Sammy go play with her. Make her feel at home.”_

_He does as told, pulling Sam by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him into the living room. He plops himself on the floor and you look up at him, innocent eyes peeking out through your hair._

_“Hi, I’m Dean.” He smiles kindly and breaks off a piece of pop tart before handing it to you._

_You take it and bite into it. “My name is—“_

_Sam, with his mouth full of food, says your name, sending crumbs flying. “We met you before, but you were too little to remember. Sorry about your mom - ow!”_

_Dean slaps Sam over the back of the head and glares at the prepubescent. He hands you another piece of pop tart and grabs the remote control. “Wanna watch some MTV?”_

_“Daddy says I’m too young to watch that.”_

_Dean leans over and raises his brows. “Has your pops started teaching you how to hold a pistol?” You nod to confirm his suspicion. “Then you’re old enough to watch MTV.” He winks and turns the television to Beavis and Butt-Head._

**

Theres a thin sheen of sweat that shines on your skin as you walk down the Riverwalk. It’s a gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky. Your flip flops clack against the pavement on the sidewalk as you and Dean stroll through the streets. “Nothing in the Ninth Ward? It was a stretch anyway. We’re still doing recon here but we’ll meet up downtown for supper.”

You end the call and slide your phone into the back pocket of your jean shorts.

“What did Sammy have to say?” Dean questions, keeping his eyes forward as you both continue onward.

“That him, Nat, and Steve ended up empty handed on the south side of town. Bucky and Wilson are still patrolling Jackson Square. We’ll group up around 8 for a bite.”

He nods along and pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “So, how’s it feel to be an Avenger?” He nearly snorts and blocks your assault.

“It’s not as cushy as it sounds. You should see the battle wounds.” You hold up the side of your shirt to revel a scar leading from the right side of your ribcage to your pelvis.

“Damn,” Dean winces, brushing his fingertips along the red risen mark. “You always did have to put yourself in the line of fire. I remember when you were young and reckless. Had to save your ass more times than I can count.”

You lay a punch to his shoulder as he snickers. “Now I’m just older and reckless. Somethings don’t change.”

“Somethings do change, _Ember_.” Dean shakes his head and huffs. “Do they even know your real name? Have you divulged any personal information to your teammates?”

Your jaw juts out slightly and you toy with the strings hanging from the cuffs of your shorts. “You get too personal, you get hurt. I had to learn that the hard way too many times.”

“Barnes?” He asks, amusement showing on his features. “You may not have told him about us, but he knows. I see the way he looks at me. But more importantly, I see the way he looks at you. What happened there?”

His eyes burn holes into you as you walk. You shrug your shoulders and pull a cigarette out from your bag, holding it between your teeth as a small flame sparks from your fingertip. “We fucked for a while and then I called it off.” Your response is nonchalant and detached.

Dean scoffs and tries to pull the stick from between your lips, but you slap his hand away. “That’s a bullshit answer and I don’t accept it. Try again.”

You want to argue but you know there’s no use. Dean’s just as persistent as Natasha.

You turn to look at him, eyes squinting from the sunlight and you slowly exhale a stream of smoke. “Things started out as just sex. After a few months I wanted more. To be exclusive. Monogamous. I told him that and the next day I found him in bed with another woman. Remind you of someone?” If the bark of your words don’t strike Dean, the daggers you shoot from behind your sunglasses do. “Guess I have a type.”

He lowers his gaze and your name falls from his lips in a soft sigh.

“Don’t.” You shake your head as you take another drag. “There’s no point in tugging on that thread again.” You extinguish the butt of the cigarette under your shoe and continue up the street. “My gut is telling me to check out the cemetery. Let’s get a move on before it gets too dark.”

**

_The bar is dim. Clouds of smoke mask the patrons as they drink their troubles away. The almost lulling sound of Nirvana’s Come As You Are blares from the jukebox behind the pool tables. There are at least a dozen pairs of eyes on you as you sway your hips, pool stick in one hand and a Jack and Coke in the other. There was at least two hundred bucks stashed in the left cup of your bra and you were working on doubling that amount. The two twenty something year old guys were putty in your hands. You almost felt bad for hustling them._

_Almost._

_The musky, neon lit room spins slowly. Warmth spreads throughout your body from the alcohol in your belly. It makes you tingle all over. You’re not drunk. Nowhere near it. Just, blissfully sedated._

_Your feet slowly carry you to the bar and you lean your hip against it, batting your eyes at the cute bartender._

_“‘Nother round. Make it a double.” You slide a ten dollar bill across the sticky counter and watch the woman fix your drink._

_Before you can grab your glass, a large hand grips it and takes it from your reach. Dean guzzles the alcohol like a man deprived from water for days. You clench your jaw and roll your eyes._

_“That was mine.” Your glare has no effect on the man sitting beside you._

_“In another five years you can publicly and legally enjoy all the booze you want.” He says with a shit eating grin plastered across his face._

_The bartender is already making you another drink and you smile in thanks._

_“Don’t be a fuckin’ hypocrite, Dean. You were stealing liquor from your dad’s stash when you were younger than I am.” He opens his mouth to argue but you hold a finger to his mouth to stop him. “It’s been a hard day, alright? I bagged three demons tonight and I need something to take the edge off.”_

_Dean raises an eyebrow and looks over you skeptically. “You took them out? Three demons on your own?” You hum in response as you gulp down your drink. He tilts his head and juts his jaw. “That’s impressive.” He mumbles more to himself, but you still hear it. “Where the hell is Sam?”_

_“Actually living up to his potential. Been at Stanford for a year now. But you wouldn’t know that since you haven’t come to visit in three years.” Your words are laced with venom._

_Dean lowers his gaze into the nearly empty glass in his hand. “Look, I—“_

_“I don’t need an excuse or an explanation, Dean. What I need is a stiff drink and for you not to get on my back about it.”_

_He holds his hands up in defense and eases off a bit. “Still. Your dad won’t be too happy if you go home stumbling in drunk.”_

_The mention of your father makes you tense visibly, but Dean overlooks it. Finishing off the contents in your glass, you slam the cup down and rise to your feet. Lenny Kravitz’s cover of American Woman echoes throughout the bar and your hips sway to the melodic melody. Dean notices the shift in the room. How all eyes land on you as you move. It makes him uneasy. Downright pisses him off._

_“You better get over here and dance with me before someone else does and you see somethin’ you really don’t wanna see.” You tease, a smirk drawn over your lips._

_Dean runs his tongue over his teeth then over his bottom lip, not budging from the rusty old barstool. He watches you for a few beats, until one of the twenty something punks make their way over to you. He drapes an arm around your back and pulls you out of the stranger’s grasp, glaring daggers._

_“How the hell did you learn to move like this huh, kid?” His voice is low and gruff, warm breath fanning just below your ear._

_“All those years of watching MTV.” You give a one shouldered shrug, grin staining your lips. “I wonder who’s to blame?”_

_Dean tries to fight the smirk from forming on his face but you feel the rumble in his chest. “Touché.”_

_An hour and three drinks later, Dean has to keep you from falling on your ass as the room spins and you fall into a fit of laughter. He slings your arm around his neck and helps you walk out of the bar. The cool night air is a welcomed feeling. Your flesh flushes and there’s a sheen of sweat gathering at the nape of your neck._

_“C’mon, kiddo. Just a little further and you can sleep this off.” Dean promises as he fishes the room key out from his back pocket._

_You throw yourself on the bed once he opens the door, sprawling out and stretching your limbs. Your vision is blurry and the only light in the room is a faint white illumination from the full moon. The bathroom sink runs briefly and within a second you’re shivering under the cold, damp towel that was placed on your head._

_An amused chuckle escapes and you run the cloth down the length of your neck. “Taking care of drunk girls is your specialty right, Dean-o?”_

_He takes a seat at the small table against the wall and furrows his brows. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”_

_You sit up slowly, wincing at the sting in your skull. “That why you’ve been gone all this time? Killing monsters and chasing tail? Couldn’t take time out of your busy schedule to come visit like you promised?”_

_Dean barely has a chance to open his mouth before you’re running for the bathroom. He sighs and slowly trudges in after you, kneeling on the tile floor and holding your hair back as you empty your stomach into the toilet bowl. He rubs a calloused hand up and down your back to soothe you as you begin to sob._

_“You’re gonna crash here for the night. Don’t need your dad seeing you like this. If he’s anything like my dad, he’ll have you up at six in the morning, mowing the lawn in hundred degree heat—“_

_“Daddy’s dead.” Your voice barely reaches a whisper._

_Dean tilts his head. Brows knitted and mouth gaped as he tries to find the words to say. “How—W-When—Why didn’t you call me?”_

_“Why didn’t you answer the goddamned phone?” You spit. “I tried calling. Sam called. Your dad fucking called. You wouldn’t answer any of us.” You wipe your face with the towel and rest your back against the vanity, bringing your knees up to your chest. “A little over a year ago. A pack of vamps got him.”_

_He’s at a loss for words. Which is somewhat amusing. He’s too busy wallowing in self-pity to think of something, anything to say. You take the moment to your advantage. Throw caution into the wind along with your inhibitions and kiss his pouty pink lips._

_He kisses back, surprising you. But it was short-lived. Out of reflex._

_Dean eases you off of him and sighs your name as he shakes his head. “Don’t. I-I can’t be what you need — can’t do what you want me to do.”_

_“It’s not like I’m a virgin, Dean.” You try to reason with him as he picks you up off the floor._

_His jaw clenches at the confession. The thought of the girl he always knew to be like a little sister to him having sex makes his blood boil._

_“Not the point.” He argues. “You’re seventeen. You’re drunk. You need to sleep this off. Forget about all this in the morning.”_

_He guides you back into the bedroom and flicks on the lamp before turning his back to grab a bottle of water from his duffle. “Jesus, kid.” He huffs at the sight of you stripping out of your jeans and kicking the material away before settling in the bed._

_“So,” Dean sits at the foot of the bed and hands the plastic bottle over to you. “Who’s the guy who took your — who uh,”_

_“Fucked me?” You smirk behind the lip of the bottle. Dean groans inwardly and nods. “Your brother.”_

_Dean’s brows furrow and he opens his mouth to speak, but you turn off the light and kick him off of the bed. “Night, Dean.”_

_Instead of probing for information, Dean walks over to the sofa and sets himself up for sleep. By the time the sun rose, you were gone. No note. The only sign you had been there was the scent of you on the rumpled sheets._

**

“Go over the plan one more time?” Wilson murmurs as he hooks his gear onto his suit.

The bright half moon casts shadows over the St. Louis Cemetery. A stiff breeze rolls in every once in a while but it’s little relief from the stifling southern spring air. Everyone is huddled behind a large tomb, strapping on their uniforms and preparing to take down the gang of shifters once and for all.

“Bucky, Dean, and I will get their attention. You and Steve will cover the north end of the graveyard while Nat and Sam come in from the south. Load your guns with the silver bullets I gave you. Rogers,” You give Steve the handle of a silver blade that matches the one attached to your hip. “Straight through the heart. Everyone get to your posts.”

“I don’t think Steve knows what to do with himself that he’s not making the orders.” Bucky chuckles, nudging you with his elbow. His right hand casually rests on his pistol in its holster.

“I’ve seen his eye twitch at least three times.” A grin tugs at the corner of your mouth. 

Dean scoffs, slightly amused. “I thought it was because of what you’re wearing. That catsuit could make any man twitch if ya know what I mean.”

To your surprise, Bucky laughs at the comment. “Careful, Winchester. You want a fireball hurled at that pretty face of yours?” You hold a flame in your palm and raise a brow.

Dean smirks and rolls his eyes. “Was she this feisty with you?”

Bucky sneers. “Feisty? That’s putting it nicely. She’s a fuckin’ dynamo.”

“Shoulda seen her when she first got her powers. Walkin’ around like hot shit.” Dean says smugly.

You throw the flame in his direction, just grazing the side of his head and slightly scorching the shell of his ear. “Stop talking about me like I’m not right here, assholes.”

“You guys might wanna get your head in the game.” Natasha pipes up over the coms.

“Incoming from the left. Stay sharp. Dean, stop being a dick before she flambés your ass.” Sam Winchester does his best to keep his tone serious but cracks a grin at the imagery.

The bushes rustle. It’s the only sound for a moment. The corners of your mouth curl upward and you wiggle your brows at the men behind you. “Showtime, boys.”

**Don’t forget to leave your comments/reviews. You know, as a treat for me.**


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